


Of empty men

by bipalium



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Disabled Character, Flashbacks, M/M, Mental Instability, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, reality distortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 09:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11181537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipalium/pseuds/bipalium
Summary: Even though all of them were dogs – abandoned, stray canines of war – Snake was a proud wolf. He didn’t talk much these days, always bound, concentrated, never did he ask odd questions, never added a smart remark. He simply did his job, that was it. There was efficiency, but most of all, Kaz sensed estrangement.





	Of empty men

Everything was in flames. Whiz of the bullets mashed with agonizing cries deafened him. Men dropped to the ground like lifeless dummies, bodies torn and burnt into a mass of flesh, blood and steel. Steel felt on his tongue, stained his hands; the air reeked of it.

A grenade blew up at his side, carving up a soldier that ran along with him just a second ago. Just a damn second... He pulled the trigger, pulled it again, again, again – all unavailing. Phantoms dashed around the platform, their guns ruthless, bullets fast. Dull pain sizzled above his knee, making him halt. A scratch burned his ear. A strong impact to his shoulder punched hard – don’t look, don’t look – and he braced to pace up. Just another fifteen meters _,_ the rotor sang through the roars of hell.   

Someone’s arm wrapped around his injured shoulder – here, here, just a little bit, go to the red light – and disappeared, a body falling to the ground like a sack of dust in a pool of blood. He heard a reverberant creak, and the ground below his feet shook. Flames swallowed the metal, sea gaped to devour the few survivors. Trapped in between two welters, on the edge between life and death, Kaz snapped into consciousness in his dimly lit room.

He panted, hard. His t-shirt had clung to his chest, soaked in sweat. The unwavering red light made his weak eyes ache and he projected his hand to snatch his aviators from the nightstand. There they were, right here, against his fingers– Kaz blinked, staring at the empty air.

“God fucking damn it!” he bawled, and felt his non-existent fist tightening to hit the steel surface. He growled through his teeth and abruptly sat up, seizing the glasses and placing them on his face. Gone were the days when he wore them to highlight the whiteness of his teeth in a handsome grin, now to cover his sorrow and shield himself from pain.

His fingers raked through his hair again and again, not at all soothingly, as Kaz smoked. The filter burned his lips before he could grasp the taste; he fiercely thrusted the spent cigarette into a tin – it dropped to the floor, rattling noisily – and withdrew another one. It smelled of gunpowder.

“Commander?” a muffled voice asked from behind the door, followed by a series of measured knocks. “Commander Miller?”

He tousled the lighter and drew a shaky breath. His boiling blood had begun to circulate normally, but another cannonry of knocks, now more demanding, stirred him all over again.

Kaz sprung up and grabbed his crutch, limping to the door with raging steps. He jerked it open and barked to whoever’s face was there:

“What the hell do you want?”

Ocelot winced at the beacon of red light that came through the outspread darkness. Surrounded by it stood Miller, like a shade without color. Too laboriously his arm gripped onto the crutch. He’d got such a frazzled appearance about him, his stumps bare, no prosthesis, a filthy shirt and boxers his only coverage as a counter to his daily uniform. And even now he wore his aviators, what stubbornness.

“Good heavens, what are you up to at 3 in the morning?” Ocelot asked, trying to be soft-spoken. Although Miller still tensed at his tone. Never dropping the facade. “You’d wake the entire Base. Someone has early shifts and–”

“Listen you sonofabitch,” Kaz hissed. Less than anything he wanted to see the sneaky gunman on a rim of a hard night. Ocelot raised his hands and stepped aback. “I don’t need you prying around like a goddamn spy, putting your nasty ears to residential doors.”

“Easy, hold your horses,” Ocelot chuckled amicably, all to Kaz’s unyielding exasperation. “I just came to check on you, why so hostile? A worn commander first thing in the morning won’t do good for staff morale.”

“Get out,” Kaz muttered; the lost energy became evident with rheumatic pains in his bones. When did he grow so old?

“Alright, alright,” Ocelot nodded, retreating slowly with hands up. Half-way from the ajar door, he turned back, but seeing Miller spitefully glaring at him, he dropped his arms and strolled away. The obstinate commander indeed wasn’t an easy target to look after.

The fury with which Kaz slammed the door shut continued to rattle through his sore muscles as he dragged himself back to bed. If it wasn’t for staff morale, for maintenance of business relationship, for Snake, Kaz would slam his crutch into Ocelot’s smug face, screw the tip in the nasty mouth of that cocky motherfucker until he started choking, and smash his skull from within, twisting the pole until Ocelot’s tiny brain would slop out and smear the ground like cat’s vomit.       

Kaz blinked, realizing how heavy his breathing was, how desperately he’d been gripping onto the headrest of his bed. His arm shook of over-exertion, and he released his hold to take the previously abandoned cigarette.

Three in the morning, huh? Not that long was left of another cursed night.

 

***    

 

Fifty five, fifty six, fifty seven...

His bad leg buckled and slipped off, abolishing the frail balance he’d struggled to maintain with his arm. Kaz grunted and collapsed to the floor, sweat gushing down his eyelids.

The clock glared at him with smudged red numbers: 6:15. Not at all early, given that nowadays it took him half an hour to button up his shirt, his coatee and tie a necktie. Kaz laboriously cocooned into that case of a uniform – layers of a shield not that sturdy. He wished he could wear one on the inside.

A cup of lukewarm coffee for breakfast on the go, morning board of Diamond Dogs with an automatic speech he’d learned by heart, meeting with Ocelot in the briefing room. Buried nose deep in papers, Kaz heard the radio click.

“Ahab speaking,” the wrenchingly familiar voice uttered, and Kaz grabbed the receiver from the desk.

“Kaz here, go ahead,” he reported, gathering his body in one concentrated clot.

“I see the target,” Snake stated. Grass rustled somewhere in Afghanistan against his dusty fatigues.

“Roger that. Eliminate him and get back.”

“Kaz.”

On his left, Ocelot reminded of his presence by prudently clearing his throat. Kaz’s fingers tightened on the transmitter, the loudspeaker against his lips.

“What is it, Boss?”

“It’s a woman,” Snake said after a pause. “Mercenary, no picture. The codename matches.”

 _Thought so_. Arid Widow didn’t seem to be a male alias to begin with.

“It’s up to you,” Kaz uttered. “Eliminate the target.”

“Roger.”

Swiftly enough, Kaz replaced the transmitter with a cigarette. He stared at the same line, skimming it over, but the words escaped his attention.

Women. Where they were, there was trouble. One bitch blew up their last hope of deliverance – flames, flames everywhere, swallowing Snake whole, licking at his face like a hellhound – another bitch fooled Boss into acceptance, lazily resting her ass off on the medical platform, whatever deceitful plot on her vegetative mind. Ones who didn’t know loyalty couldn’t be trusted, ones that savored the forbidden fruit could delude even a snake. And what was worse, Snake kept shriving them.  

The smoke snapped it between his iron fingers, its ember scattering to the documents. Ocelot jumped up, snatching the papers away and shaking the pile.

“Блядь, be careful,” he sighed, shoving it back to Kaz’s opened hand. A burn dehisced in the middle of a sentence: _Restock of monthly supplies for (...) facility_.

 

***

 

Raw gust flapped his coat, icy raindrops gathering on his cheeks. His crutch slithered against the wet metal, soaked boots heavier with each step.

Every which way it was grey; grey clouds on the grey sky, like smog on conflagration. Kaz’s uniform stuck to his body, a burdening armor. He approached a chopper landing zone and, grunting and panting, seated himself on the edge. His bad leg swung in the air while his good one held still.

A wasteful, blurry horizon loomed like a cutting line. A little force, guide by its string, easily tear off an arm or a leg. Weren’t bodies degradable, like everything in nature? Kaz closed a hold on the crutch, a sword of vengeance. Snap – Quiet’s head off. Snap – Huey’s head off. Snap – Skull Face’s head off. Snap – Zero’s–

A nudge to his thigh made him startle and he became aware of the suspended state of his body on the shallowly rocking strut. DD nuzzled his chest, pushing him to move away from the verge. Deprived of agitation, Kaz drew his legs up and shifted back.

“Good boy,” he muttered, petting the dog’s neck. With a sympathetic eye, DD peered at him and emitted a gentle whine.

“Why are you out in such foul weather?” prompted Kaz, scratching his soaked fur. And, as if asking _What about you?_ , the dog tilted his head and stared almost reproachfully. So much like Snake.

Even though all of them were dogs – abandoned, stray canines of war – Snake was a proud wolf. He didn’t talk much these days, always bound, concentrated, never did he ask odd questions, never added a smart remark. He simply did his job, that was it. There was efficiency, but most of all, Kaz sensed estrangement.

Although, estrangement wasn’t all. After operations, beaten, bloodied, barely showing signs of life, Snake would stand on the Command Platform, smoking wistfully. Every so often Kaz stood alongside him, right on this spot, not a word uttered between them. Snake looked far away at the cutting line – a head off, an arm off – his blue eye fixed on gilded cumulus. The metal of his arm would clang as he retracted the cigar from his mouth and blew the smoke out in dense eddies. Then, with a soft tilt of his head, he’d cast a tired look at Kaz, and his scarred lips would pull in a faint smile.

Stroking DD’s drying fur, Kaz noticed that the rain had stopped pouring, and thin rays pierced through the leaden of heavy clouds. Those shimmering streaks beamed to random spots of the sea, flaring it up with sparkles. Kaz squinted at the brightness, his head pounding with ache.

“Kaz? Did they do something to your eyes?”

The sack was removed from his head and light shot his eyes with fierce pain. He could barely see anything but a cloud of radiance. In attempt to moisten his burning eyeballs, Kaz blinked – his eyelids hurt like hell. In that milky weft, from the gauze of shine, a face he’d longed to see the most dawned before him. Like a saint, Snake gazed at him with remorse, his mouth opened in holy grief. Must’ve been another dream, his consciousness wouldn’t fool him again.

But it wasn’t a dream. Two hands clasped his face – cupped it, like a mother would cup her child’s face – one warm, one cold, evidently artificial. The striking tenderness of this touch clawed at Kaz’s heart – it was real – was John finally here? For him?

It was real. A stuttering breath narrowed Kaz’s throat. He wanted to let it out in a sigh of relief, but it didn’t go past a tight limp.

“What took you so long...” Kaz forced, feeling his damaged eyes watering in the corners as Snake put the glasses on his face.

Slowly, Kaz brought himself to his feet – DD kept butting his bad leg with his nose, good boy – and turned at the Mother Base in its full glory. Still under construction, but prospering operably. Despite the enemies, in friends’ joy, their old dream was closer to reality that it had ever been. But what was lost could never be taken back.

With laidback steps, Ocelot turned round the corner of the main strut. There he was, Miller, soaked to his skin and matter-of-factly playing with DD. Had he lost not only his good eyesight but tactile sense? It was a little eerie how unbothered the commander was of his own wet clothes and damp hair clinging to his neck. Better take him inside before the rain resumed.

Kaz heard approaching steps, out of the corner of his eye glimpsing Ocelot's figure, and pretended not to notice him until it wasn’t anymore possible. DD rushed to greet him, happily waggling his tail and trying to jump on the weakly protesting gunman.

“I think our little friend is ready to tell us something,” said Ocelot with a cunning grin. Kaz winced in disgust at the ‘friend’ part.

“You could’ve radioed me, if so,” uttered Kaz, continuing in his head: because I’m not up to see your hideous mug more than necessary.

Not before long they both entered the grimly lit interrogation room, in the middle of which, soaked from head to toe, Huey was sitting on a chair. He was whimpering, sobbing almost, snot running down his nose. Kaz’s fingers gripped the crutch violently – knock the bastard in the head, wrench that red nose of his into a bloody mess – and he hastily walked to the desk.         

And there they were again. Ocelot fussed around with his sophisticated torture devices like a kid with new toys, his narrow features bursting up with unhidden joy every time Huey let out a high-pitched scream. What a sadist; not that the filthy traitor didn’t deserve it, but the result was barren. Panting and crying, Huey kept mumbling blatant lies, Ocelot kept delivering electric jolts, like two toddlers in a sandbox they were.

“Enough!” Kaz barked, and Ocelot halted in front of him. A distant look of dismay twisted his features for a brief moment, and he watched Kaz slowly approaching them.

“You are not getting anywhere,” Kaz stated, ceasing before Huey. The bastard drilled him with pathetic, praying eyes.

“Right, Kaz, my friend?” he chuckled with obvious subservience. A spiteful shudder rolled up and down Kaz’s spine, flaming up his nerves.   

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped at Huey, who startled and jolted on the chair, barely maintaining its balance. Ocelot put a hand on Kaz’s shoulder and walked him a few meters away.

“Miller, be patient, won’t you,” muttered Ocelot rather impassively. He already had incipient regrets about permitting Miller in the game. The man was a little too profane in such delicate matters as holding a prisoner well-kept. “It takes some time for a man to contemplate his mistakes.”

“Bullshit,” said Kaz through grit teeth and shook Ocelot’s hold off.

“But I’m telling the truth!” Huey interrupted. “There’s nothing I know and haven’t told you! Come on, why won’t you believe me, aren’t we comrades? Didn’t we work together for the same dream?”

Snap. Snap. Snap. Fast as lightning, Kaz ran up to Huey and grabbed him by the collar.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” he roared and dropped the squalling man to the ground.

His head hit it hard, and blood spilled to the floor, neon red on the blackness of metal. Swiftly, Kaz kicked his stomach, kicked it again, again, dipped his heel under his ribcage and stomped, stomped, stomped furiously. Huey screamed and chocked on blood, rasping on breaths. Shaking with fury, Kaz stooped and gripped his jaw. His veins pumped in a burning desire of punishment.

“Don’t you dare say that again, you dickhead!” Kaz spat on his face and, with all his strength seized Huey’s jaw. It creaked under his twisted fingers – Huey whined and trembled. That Judas. With force, Kaz brought his face up and fiercely smashed his skull against the glazed floor, one hit – one agonized cry. Overflowing with rage, Kaz tensed and clutched his under-jawbone, jerked it violently and it came off as easily as if it was paper-mache, teeth scattering to the ground to the noise of Huey’s savage outcry.

“Don’t you dare, motherfucker!” Kaz gnarred, his fangs baring.

Huey choked on tears, face a mass of meat and blood, and Kaz sank his razor-sharp claws into his racing chest, breaking bones and tearing flesh apart. He pried it open to Huey’s recurrent screams that pummeled in his ears like a war drum, and dipped his rapacious fangs into oozing gore, into pulsing organs Kaz didn’t care to distinguish. Trembling with besotting zest, he ravished the internals of his prey, his enemy, tearing his body to pieces until the cries subsided into stillness.

“Miller, you’re overdoing it.”

Noting how ferocious was Miller’s glare, how firm was his shaking fist on the collar of the whimpering Huey, how beastly his features twisted, Ocelot quickly concluded to interrupt further interrogation.  

Kaz snapped back to reality of Ocelot’s palm on his back; Huey panted in dread in his firm hold, eyes shut. Breathing heavily, cold sweat sliding from his temples, Kaz released the offender’s shirt and abruptly turned away. Ocelot quietly handed him the crutch that had fallen to the ground.

“See, no need to use force!” Huey exclaimed to his back with fake bravery. “Can’t you handle it normally, like human beings do?”

I am no longer human, thought Kaz, walking out of the grim room.

 

***

 

He folded his uniform as carefully as he could and put it on a shelf. Turning the tap on, Kaz lowered his eyelids as chilly water sprinkled over his hair and face.

Washing wasn’t as bad as the first few weeks after he’d lost his limbs; at least now he could stand in a cabin without tripping. Once he hit his head pretty hard and gained a nasty bruise that hadn’t completely healed yet. Now he could do better. He reached out for soap – there, all slippery, in his fingers – and snapped open his eyes. Cursing at the view of emptiness instead of his right arm, Kaz grabbed the bar and constrainedly rubbed it against his neck, chest and armpits.

He could deal with his legs, no problem; even his ass was fine. His back was another question; he struggled to reach between the shoulderblades, huffing in effort. As his fingers touched the non-lathery skin, they slipped back off.

“Shit,” Kaz sighed and gripped onto the handle to turn his back to the stream.

Gingerly he trailed his fingers back there all over again, slipped again, reached them out again. He could feel countless small scars, some reminders of combat, some not as legendary.

“Feeling sorry yet?”

John’s voice rumbled through his system, making his knees weak with building bliss. It was too hot, so enormously hot; the heat added with skin slapping against skin wasn’t making it any better. Kaz could barely breathe, barely move under John’s iron-grip on his thighs.

“I can’t hear you,” John demanded, driving his hips away and slamming his cock into Kaz with an overwhelming thrust. Kaz wheezed, his lips too dry of steam to utter a word.

“I’m... sorry...” he husked, stuttering as John rocked against him faster, pushing in and out with such vigor that Kaz thought he’d faint before it ended. And yet, that coercive grasp and violent bucking drove him insane. He couldn’t get enough of John’s stiff cock inside him, it hurt as much as it was fantastic. No Swan’s scratches could match this vehement, pure force. Boss could crush him easily and fuck him to death, and Kaz wouldn’t think to complain. He loved it.         

Having failed to lather up his back properly, Kaz sighed and raised his hand to his hair. That was even worse – no matter how much he rubbed, the roots still remained greasy after a wash. He could definitely have a helping hand for it, actually there wasn’t a female Diamond Dog who wouldn’t comply (save for a certain sniper Kaz would let come near on no account anyway). But the idea of letting anyone close to his back sickened him.

Except for one person. Mother Base showers weren’t a sauna indeed, but Kaz wouldn’t mind if Snake... No, that was out of question. Past was past, and no matter what had happened in Costa Rica remained in Costa Rica.

Kaz leveled his head with the sprinkler and soapy water ran down his face. Letting it go wasn’t that easy.

 

***

 

The sultry sun was lazily verging towards the bleary horizon. The waves murmured a mellow tune, lapping and foreplaying with the dusky beach like with a torrid lover. 

The Costa Rica breeze was cosseting his hair, gentle against his flushed up face. Kaz took a lungful of that gorgeous freshness, tipsy with Caribbean night more than with cheap wine.

“Aye Miller!” Fernandez beckoned him with a tilt of a bottle. “Sing that one, won’t you?”

The soldiers burst into demanding roars, cheering Kaz and not forgetting to pass the bottle in a circle. Amanda, having taken a large gulp, struck him a challenging smirk across the fire. Her bright eyes shimmered with devilish glint, and Kaz grinned back in endorsement.

“C’mon.” John’s elbow nudged his ribs. “Don’t make everyone wait.”

The summer night was hot, and Kaz’s cheeks burned with it all: the youth, the pleasant buzz in his head, his comrades hollering for him to sing, and, most of all, John’s expectant smile. Clearing his throat, Kaz tightened his fingers on the guitar’s neck and softly stroked its strings, as if he was touching not an instrument but the gentle thighs of a juvenile beauty. He inhaled deeply, and his hand lunged on the strings, hitting them hard and steady.   

 

_I, I will be king_

_And you, you will be queen_

_Though nothing, will drive them away_

_We can beat them, just for one day_

_We can be heroes, just for one day_

_And you, you can be mean_

_And I, I'll drink all the time_

_Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact_

_Yes we're lovers, and that is that_

His eyes cast at John: he chattered with Cécile by his left, chuckling and taking the offered bottle in between her remarks. Kaz lowered his voice; his audience loved it in their own subtle way, a background to their party. They were all laughing faces, red of wine and joy, some men and women chanting along with him, some dancing. He glanced at Amanda: she leaned close into personal space of Medic, who peered into the amaranth sky with a lost expression. Kaz chuckled; the guy was too earnest and job-focused for Amanda’s flat-out flirt to succeed.

He played a couple more songs, now instrumental. As the bottle returned to him, Kaz placed the guitar on his lap and took an avid gulp – his throat had gone dry as if he’d been not singing but eating sand.

“Kaz.”

John’s back was still to him, looming in front of the fire, and Kaz delightedly wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders.

“Yes, Boss?”

The face abruptly turned to him made his guts shrink: blood trailing from his eye, an enormous horn protruding from his forehead, ragged teeth flashed as Boss cracked a macabre grin at him. Kaz rooted to the spot, his arm glued to Boss’ shoulders, unmoving as he attempted to jerk it away.

“You’re dead,” Boss uttered, steam emanating from his distorted mouth.

Frozen in horror, Kaz blinked; when he opened his eyes, Paz stood at the chopper’s door, her eyes scanning the interior in panic.

Snap.

He hit his head, not able to move an inch. A small limp body fell atop of his legs, bleeding all over. Something long and sharp stuck out its back. A wave of wild shudder ran through Kaz’s body, vomit rolling up his throat.

Flames were everywhere, and the chopper spiraled down imminently.

“Snake! Snake!”

Strenuously, Kaz crawled to Boss in the corner of the cabin. He lay lifelessly on his stomach, and Kaz made a titanic effort to roll his huge frame over.

His fingers, crooked and stuck, clawed on Boss’ suit. In terror, Kaz stared at what was left of his friend’s face: all skin had burned, baked flesh sticking to the skull. There were no eyelids, nor there was the healthy eye, and only the glass ball peered at him with cold waft of death.

“Ugh!”

Kaz jerkily sat up in his bed, rasping for air. His perspired hair clogged to his forehead, tears streamed down his face uncontrollably. The red light silently beamed at him with its razor-sharp ray.

Kaz breathed deeply and rapidly, trying to rebound his mad heartbeat, but that clot of meat kept pounding, as if willing to break his ribs open. He grunted, clutching the pillow hard, wrenching it in his fingers – but there weren’t any. His breath was wheezing and he grabbled for a pack of smokes between the damp sheets.

With trembling fingers, Kaz lit up a cigarette and took a thorough drag. As nicotine entered his system, his heart began to slow down: 120, 115, 110, 105, 100, 90. Weary, Kaz exhaled the smoke and leaned his head on the headrest.

2:45. How many push-ups would that make?

 

***  

 

“They say she doesn’t need to eat at all, can you imagine?”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“Nah, bullshit. I saw commander Ocelot serving her coffee with croissants.”

“Oh, come on. Need she eat or not, she’s such a babe.”

“Don’t even think about it. Boss will choke you.”

“If the lady doesn’t choke him faster, huh!”

Kaz stopped behind the table of the merrily chatting soldiers and swiftly hit one’s back with his crutch. The soldier groaned, his companions dropping their jaws upon noticing Kaz.

“What the– Oh, commander Miller!”

Hasty Raccoon, the one hit, awkwardly sprang on his feet and saluted him. The rest of the group followed suit, their wide grins wiped off.

“Belay gossiping,” Kaz said curtly. Hasty Raccoon swallowed nervously.

“Yessir! Sorry, sir! Won’t happen again, sir!”

Clicking his tongue, Kaz proceeded into the dining hall. Benches squeaked behind his back, no whispers following.

“So crude,” Ocelot shook his head and beckoned him to sit at his table. Kaz acquiesced ever so reluctantly.

“That bitch is causing trouble by her mere presence,” he hissed, taking a trademark I♥DD cup that Ocelot handed to him.   

“Quiet? Well, I think she does more good than harm. And if it’s appearance that’s bothering you, they’ll get used to it.”

With a small smile, Ocelot pushed a plate of snacks forward. Kaz frowned.

“No man can get used to the sight of a woman that leaves a little to imagination,” he uttered and took a sip. The coffee burned his tongue and he cursed under his breath.

“Speaking from experience?” mocked Ocelot.

“Playing smart?” retorted Kaz. “I’m not blind.”

Smearing black caviar across his blini, Ocelot sighed. He wasn’t blind either, and certainly didn’t fancy a heart-to-heart talk with a man like Miller – bad-tempered and ill-mannered. Rumors said he hadn’t been always like that, old MSF associates claimed him a charismatic deputy leader and the life and soul of the organization, until Cipher crushed the Caribbean Mother Base. It wasn’t Ocelot’s business to question Miller’s expertise of course, but looking at his perturbed posture and jittery features he could detect that not only the Base had been broken. More than that, Ocelot wasn’t a man to violate a promise, especially one to Boss.

He calmly clasped his hands on the table, peering into the commander’s hidden eyes. Perhaps putting it bluntly was a better course of action.  

“Aren’t you being a little too obsessed with our guest?” he asked. To maintain balance of frankness and delicacy was crucial. “I respect your shrewdness, but haven’t you gone a little too far with your primitive hatred?”

Kaz tensed at the insinuation. What a terribly sly and conceited look Ocelot had, as if asking for a punch.

“I don’t have eyes on my back and the enemies are lurking around, waiting for a chance to stab me.”

“Really?” Ocelot raised a brow. “Perhaps it’s not your paranoia speaking but your jealousy?”

“What?” Kaz gaped at him, taken aback. His fingers tightened in a fist that he pressed firmly to the metal surface.  

“She has such great mutual understanding with Boss, doesn’t she. You didn’t see it coming, and now you’re panicking. You’re like a loyal dog to him, but what dog doesn’t fear being abandoned by its owner?”

“Cut that crap.”

How desperately Kaz wanted to grab the fucker’s ridiculous scarf and strangle him right on the spot, burying his smug face in his soup until he’d suffocate. But the occasional glances of Diamond Dogs around them aroused by the raised volume of their conversation made him reconsider that impulsive desire. Kaz drew a cigarette and bit onto it, for he was the one to propose the non-smoking rule for the dining hall.

 

***

 

The dusk had long since fallen over Mother Base, shrouding it in low whispers and wind rustle. Kaz didn’t need to see it to know that rain was approaching.

Pushing a pile of documents away, he felt for the transmitter and tightly wrapped his fingers around it. The device was profoundly silent even after he pressed the button.

“Kaz speaking. Do you copy?”

No answer.

It’d been hours since Pequod’s report on their approaching the Base in short order, and still no further communication. Wired to the bone, Kaz slammed the transmitter against his desk and jumped up. His teeth ground as he balled his fingers into iron fists, nails scratching his skin. Shaking, he peered at the absence of his right hand, how uncanny it was while he stood right there and felt it, clenching and unclenching his fingers!

Click.

He turned abruptly to the radio, rushing to grab it and dropping a few papers on the floor.

“Kaz speaking!” he blurted in agitation.

“Still no connection?” Ocelot spoke from the other end. So quiet and tranquil was his voice, contrasting with Kaz’s disarray.

“No. Has the Intel team reported a lag in transmission?” he asked, trying to hold down the irritation pulsating in his temples.

“Negative, but the chances are high,” Ocelot asserted. “Previously they announced a storm in Afghanistan. That might’ve cut the connection on our line.”

“Goddammit,” Kaz snapped, feeling for a cigarette among loads of paperwork. His fingers shook violently as he snatched a smoke. “It’s been six hours and forty five minutes! They must’ve encountered an enemy chopper, buried in the ocean, fucking fish food!”

“Miller, ёб твою мать, put yourself together. Boss has been through the toughest of missions, there’s no way he’d let himself killed this easily. And you,” he stressed, “had better have some rest. Perhaps visit the medical facility in the meantime.”

“Fuck off!”

But the connection had been already cut from Ocelot’s side, and Kaz growled in escalating anger.

“Medical facility my ass!” he gurgled past saliva in his mouth, edgily walking to and fro. “We are military, we can die anytime, anywhere!”

He roughly kicked a cardboard box with whatnot supplies, his toes going sore. He sat down his made bed and, slightly rocking, smoked three tasteless cigarettes. They didn’t seem to ease his nagging arousal. As he was about to shove the last spent cigarette into the tin, his fingers twitched – with a metallic bang, the makeshift ashtray hit the floor and spilt the dirty butts out. What a wretched disorder.

He could not afford disorder. He had a whole Mother Base to hold together. Their staff was weaved of broken soldiers that had gone to Hell and back, now serving Big Boss and him. Serving their dream that had become their own. Every last one on Mother Base – a mercenary, a doctor, a scientist, an engineer, an advisor – everyone had their unwavering faith in Boss. Death could not take one who’d died once. Hell wouldn’t let in one who still had a mission on Earth.

And Kaz firmly believed that, too. Snake couldn’t die. Snake wouldn’t die. But...

“Don’t you die on me!”

Everything hurt, but his senses were so numbed he neglected the enormity of it. The pain was dull, spreading through his body, from head to toe; every cell ached, fighting for life.

“Calm down, calm down!” A nurse yelled, two more pinning him down. Something pinched his arm – no, no more sedatives, he couldn’t, not now, no!

“Snake!” Kaz piped. He focused all his power on keeping his eyes wide open; his heavy eyelids were ready to fall any second, vision blurry and doubling – on the nearby table he lay, John, heavily wounded, face caked with blood, his own blood. His head wouldn’t tilt to Kaz’s voice, mouth wouldn’t pull in a grin, eye wouldn’t crack open, casting a reproachful look at him. Groaning, Kaz grappled to free his arm from a paramedic’s grip and felt another shot of drugs up his veins.

“Fuck, do something!” Kaz shouted, wriggling on the surgical table. The faces of medics above him floated, forming into a shapeless swirl. “Forget me, help Snake! Can't you see he's dying!”

He heard a pained moan from a far-away distance, but it sounded so close as if whispered right into his ear: the last gasp of a soul leaving a body. He jolted, twisting his neck, but all around him were only distorted splotches.

With a shaky breath, Kaz buried his face in his palm. His forehead was slick with sweat, blunt atrocity creeping up his spine. Having moved back at his desk, he stared sightlessly at the paper in front of him: the words blended together in a meaningless stream inside a round coffee stain left by his mug.

The door swung open, and Kaz’s head shot up in high alertness. He started and stared at Snake approaching him in imminent steps. Kaz bolted to his feet, holding onto the desk with infirm fingers. There he was – undoubtedly alive, water drops dripping down his damp hair.

“I’m home,” Venom murmured and stopped a few inches away from him. He ran an eye over Kaz’s worn, disturbed face: creases around his mouth were sharp, dark bags heaving behind his aviators. 

“Welcome home,” Kaz uttered. Something phony was in his blank voice.

That raspy tone, his strung posture, the rigid line of his mouth: all suggested rough hours of waiting. Venom’s heart shrank of the battered view of his commander – his friend; he wrapped his large arms around Kaz’s shoulders and pulled him in a firm embrace.

“The communication was cut due to the storm,” said Venom. In his hold, Kaz was still and stiff like a wooden dummy.  

As Snake released him, Kaz staggered a bit back, a dry chuckle coming from his cracked lips.

“Thought so.” He attempted to be nonchalant, but sounded so disgustingly feeble. He hoped that this would somehow escape Boss’s attention, Boss who could always see right through him, reading him like an open book.

“Kaz.”

His tone was low, and it was a little indistinctive how his eye swept about in ponder. Didn’t he know what to say? That was fine with Kaz. He didn’t need words, he was glad to have Snake back, and that was it.

Venom was clueless what to say in further reassurance. All the words on his mind seemed wrong: _I wanted to reach you but couldn’t, I wanted to see you again_ – that wasn’t enough of an excuse. Helplessly almost, Venom ran his fingers through his hair, his eye not settling anywhere.

As Kaz was going to walk away – anywhere but here, just not to stand against that solemn look – Snake’s metal fingers closed on his shoulder and pulled him in. Their noses brushed shortly, and Snake craned his neck, whispering against his lips:

“Can I?”

Of fucking course you can, didn’t say Kaz, leaning in and kissing him with utter desperation. He still smelled of grass and sand and dirt, raw like a beast, like the demon he was; his beard scratched Kaz’s skin, scarred lips just a little more pliant to Kaz’s rough movements than he remembered. Nine longest years of his life, and still that taste remained the same.

Kaz’s lips against his – so long! – were not as obedient as they used to be. Dartingly eager, but estranged almost. He remembered: the Costa Rica beach, a beautiful sunset, Kaz kissing him desperately and moaning for more – _John, John!_ Those lips were not the same, the man ravishing him was not the same. And he himself; on the spur of the moment, he melted into the harsh movements of Kaz’s tongue. He didn’t remember being led before, but now it suddenly seemed right to him.

Snake’s hands slid down to his middle, sneaking underneath his trench coat and rubbing his sides. Rabidly, Kaz threw his arm around Snake's thick neck, pressing closer to him. Nine years, nine years! Kaz groaned past their tongues, savoring the moment that didn’t mean to last. Their mouths parted.

Overwhelmed, Venom stared at Kaz through the cyan vapor; his once blue eyes were unreachable under the shade of his glasses. His heart pounded, aching to get more, memories swirling about in his head. Not only that; he wanted to _give_ more. But why now? The Kaz from the sunny Costa Rica wasn’t the man before him, even worse – the Kaz of Costa Rica wasn’t the man he had any warm feelings for; nothing he could grasp from his faded memory akin to this swelling and round emotion that bloomed in his chest as he stood in this shadowed room with Kaz in his arms now. That broken man in front of him was the one Venom needed.

Kaz peered in the motionless blue eye, seeing his own face as a distorted reflection on its surface. Was there... doubt? He reached his hand out, hovering not far from Snake’s bearded cheek. No, past was past. What had happened in Costa Rica–

Without hesitation, Snake drew his good arm and clasped his hand on top of Kaz’s, placing his palm on his face. His calloused fingertips – so many triggers pulled, so many deserts crawled over, so many men’s throats cut open – quivered against Kaz’s skin with unexpected gentleness. And strangely enough, Snake slid Kaz’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles with oddest softness.

Right, Kaz’s hand, his only hand, did not match the memory. It wasn’t anymore smooth and sun-kissed – a bony hand of a sufferer it was. And that was the hand Venom wanted to hold and caress, to feel its faint warmth, to squeeze in handshakes and arm-wrestling matches they were so fond of a lifetime ago in the Caribbean.

The oddity with which Snake fondled his fingers, so very attentively, hit Kaz with striking unfamiliarity. A lot had happened in these nine years. There wasn’t a day Kaz didn’t think of Boss, waiting impatiently for his return from Hell. He’d changed so much, gone was his naive hopefulness, his ability to dream on and believe in the bright future. But Snake, what horrid dreams did he watch during his slumberous journey? Did he see Kaz calling up to him from the surgical table? Did he see the flames swallowing all their hopes and dreams and burying them in the cruel sea?

Kaz didn’t dare to ask, overwhelmed with kisses sprawling now across his jawline and neck. They were fervent but shrewd, cautious almost. But let him get into stride, Kaz knew they could catch up. Boss had never belonged to him, not in the most daring of dreams, but Kaz was all his. Damn be the nine years; Kaz would’ve followed Snake to Hell and back if needed be.

Venom embraced him tighter, mapping his back and sucking under his stubbled jawline. Kaz’s breathing began to flacker, body more and more pliant to his touches and kisses. Still not as powerful as on that beach, that peaceful and sunny day, when Kaz was gripping onto him for dear life as he fucked him on the sand, unmindful of surroundings. That didn’t matter when Kaz was so young and ripe, thrusting against him and shuddering in rapture, his mouth opened in a husky _John! John!_ But now, Kaz’s only arm wrapping hard around his neck, his hips slightly rocking against Venom’s – it was so much like in his vivid memories. _He’s all yours,_ spoke a distant voice in his head. His own voice. _You can have him just like that._ Bracing Kaz’s torso, Venom dragged him forward.     

With a strong push, Snake dropped them both to the bed, his knee spreading Kaz’s thighs. The pressure on his crotch – nine years! – was so keen that Kaz shuddered and gasped for air. He didn’t expect another kiss on his mouth – that one was gentler; even though teeth rubbed his tongue he couldn’t feel animalistic hunger that had filled their ancient encounters. Much less that John didn’t use to kiss him that much.

Even Kaz’s shallow groan into his mouth was stirring, so wholesome, so genuine. He wanted him all the same, even after so long. But Venom’s own mouth couldn’t catch up on those small bites and sucks, a strain of reluctance in his movements. He could just rip off Kaz’s clothes, turn him to the wall, clench his hair and fuck him brusquely, but the more he visualized the imagery, the less his own hands were cooperating.

No, that wasn’t right. Old habits die hard, but something in Kaz’s desperate touches on his neck and back, his hair, the hitch of his hips grinding against Venom’s crotch wasn’t true. Again, Venom tore from his cracked lips and looked deeply in his commander’s eyes, hazy and glazed in the azure wave as his aviators slid off. And in them, Venom saw profound, keen pain.

Pinned, chest racing, Kaz watched as Snake slowly brought himself up. Kaz waited for Snake to drop his fatigues and take up the action, but his features, just a moment ago so roped in, looked lost. There was a peculiar awkwardness to his stance: shoulders slouched, fingers frozen on belts, absence of mind in his gaze.

Kaz tsked and sat up, groping Snake’s neck for support. What was that? Did Boss want him to beg? He could do that, if needed be. Sex wasn’t a matter of pride, at least not with him.

If Boss wanted him to be on his knees, he’d drop. Down! He’d sit. Shake! He’d stretch out his paw. Bark! He’d give voice. Anything but the inexplicable silence with which Snake peered through his head. Persistently Kaz lowered himself to his crotch, pulling on his fly to open it.

But Snake’s hands wedged under his armpits and shoved him away. It hit Kaz like icy water on his face, and he stared back in Snake’s bewildered eye. What was that damn infirmity in his look? An apology?

“What are you waiting for?” asked Kaz with growing defiance. His breath was becoming deep and erratic, heartbeat irregular.

Venom’s eyelid lowered, his head tilted slightly. With a small nod, he rested his flesh hand on Kaz’s chest. He couldn’t just call off suddenly, could he? Kaz stared at him with eager anticipation, although his shoulders quirked and his fingers racked up and down his own thigh. Perhaps going slowly was the correct development, and so Venom, without haste or persistence, curved his fingers on a button and ever so gently unbuttoned it.

Deep down in Kaz’s pounding chest, the last strand of restraint snapped.

With a low grunt, he grabbed Snake’s hand and roughly pulled it away. His own arm was in a whirl, trembling and ripening with belligerent fever. Snake’s uncomprehending look, the soft aura around him, his tenderness – was the hell was that all about? Where was the Snake who’d knock him to the bed and fuck him into the sheets ruthlessly until he’d pass out? Where was the Snake who didn’t need to be ordered about, who knew what he wanted and was up to take it?

Kaz sprang on his feet and shot Boss a wicked glare.

“What the hell is that?” he snapped, loud and shaking with rage. “Are you pitying me or what? I’m not an invalid, I can take off my damn clothes myself! Have you been avoiding me because of that? Can’t you just fuck me like you used to? Or do I not comply with your standards anymore? Maybe that bitch is better? Maybe she’s as good in deep-throating as in everything else, such a lucky catch?”

Kaz’s nostrils flared as he spat the words out, every one of them releasing with brute rage and fierce gestures. This was wrong, so wrong. Venom couldn’t put his finger on what was the worst in the current circumstances: his inability to soothe Kaz, or Kaz’s lack of awareness. He glared with such poignant contempt, his hand trembled in a fist. There was a vibe of destruction around him, but he wasn’t throwing and breaking things, wasn’t commencing in a physical fight with him. And yet, the lamented twist of his mouth spoke of deep hurt.

Kaz let out a shaky sigh, for Snake only kept staring at the wall quietly, his real and bionic hands clasped together. Silent agreement be it. With a deep growl of frustration, Kaz gripped his shoulder violently.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Snake? Why don’t you just throw me away like an empty magazine, what am I good for? I’m a finished person, I’m not even a person anymore!”

He briskly stepped back and jerkily removed his coat that fell to the floor, then gripped on his shirt – fuck the buttons, he just ripped the sleeve off, thrusting out his messily patched stump.

“Can’t you see it?” Kaz roared, spattering. Snake’s eye rose at him, and again everything present in it was pity. Furious, Kaz tore the fabric onward – it acutely pressed on his whitening fingers, fibers cutting his skin. As Kaz harshly shredded it, his nail got stuck in a seam and numbness formed into sharp pain. He glanced at his fingers: one of the nails came off, raw skin spilling blood.

Alert and shaken, Venom rose from the bed. That was it. Kaz’s rage, his hatred, his grief, all were pointed inwards. He needed to cease that violence, needed to bring the real Kaz back from the obscurity of his mind, or whatever it could be. He needed Kaz sane in this world of madness. Screw their not so mutual history of past misunderstandings; before him was the shattered man whom he was ought to put together. Not for the duty, not for himself even, but for Kaz’s own sake.  

“Stop it,” muttered Snake and reached his arm out. Groaning and panting, Kaz slapped it away.

“What’s the point?” he snarled. His fingers kept raking over the destroyed shirt, leaving numb scratches on his skin. “I’ve lost everything. Our Caribbean base, our men. I’ve lost you for nine years. I’ve lost myself, no less. A shape without form, I stroll around Mother Base like a ghost, intimidate soldiers. There’s no use for me. You’re all set, get aboard, head to your destination. That Russian freak will help you, that whore will, too. Even Huey can be of some use. What do you need me for? To laugh at me? Come on, get rid of me so I’ve lost absolutely everything!”

“Kaz.” Snake’s frame loomed over as he stepped forward. Red flash stressed the protrusive horn, the reeling metal of it. His eye was ripe with blood. He breathed petrol and gunpowder, tremendous hands strong enough to snap a spine with a flick of the switch.

“Kill me,” mouthed Kaz.

Those hands hovered on his neck, and Kaz closed his eyes. His body shivered in obscure impulses, the agony of damage. He braced to get what he asked for, but the hands held him firmly and resolutely, neither strangling, nor ripping his flesh apart.

With all lenience he’d got, Venom cupped Kaz’s neck, brushing his fingers against heated skin. And in his hands, Kaz gave in with a strong jolt, and slowly relented.

Kaz gasped for air but it didn’t slip into his lungs. His beret came off, and he felt a stroke against his hair.

“Why are you so gentle, why, why?” he whispered spastically. “It’s not like you, John. Not like you at all.”

Venom leaned away, keeping their bodies pressed close to one another. _Don’t listen to him,_ the voice reappeared within his mind, and Venom shook his head. No, he would listen to what Kaz had to say. He would lend his shoulder for him to lean on, he would wait as long as necessary for the sun to come out of the clouds, a shining mind to return. What had happened in Costa Rica remained in Costa Rica, gone was his indifference, gone was the attitude of taking and not giving anything back. For that, when after nine abraded years Venom saw Kaz chained and roughed up in that shabby room, defeated but not surrendered, his chest oozed with sorrow. When he saw Kaz’s face and touched him – he was real, warm, alive – a rooted emotion surfaced in his soul, thorough and unfeigned. Now when he looked into Kaz’s bleak, grave eyes, his heart swayed in a boundless volition to be by his side. There he belonged.

With a draggy breath, Kaz lowered his aching eyelids. Snake was so very palpable against him, and Kaz could feel his muscles shift against his own joggling body. With both hands, Snake cupped his jaw and locked their lips so very gently. So gently that it wrenched Kaz’s heart and made it sink. Why would he do this now? Why was he being so caring? All those years when Kaz yearned for a little bit of reciprocation and only now could he get it, and at what cost?

Kaz swallowed a sob. It scratched his ribs in attempt to burst them.

“Kaz, I’m here,” Snake spoke quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. You aren’t going anywhere either. You’re the best of my men, this entire base is your merit. You’re the Commander here. I need you here, at hand.”

Inside Kaz’s chest, a rumbling laughter congested and rolled off his mouth in exasperated spasms, like tubercular cough.

“To look after your soldiers while you’re away? Sure, who else can.”

It’s not that, wanted Venom to say, but couldn’t find a worthy substitute. It was more than just being a high class soldier, more than anything regarding the base development. That feeling, so enormous, so sheer and whole, it permeated him and yet left him speechless. 

With last of vigor, Kaz peered in the adrift eye. Snake’s look hardened, but it wasn’t anger. It’d be better if it was anger, but that profound blueness flowed in grief. Kaz’s guts went cold, an abysmal pit baring in his stomach.   

“We can only do it together,” uttered Snake. “We are the hollow men. They say double zero remains a zero, but that’s not true. Together, we are the one.”

With that, Venom sat down the bed and reached his arm out again, in a silent promise, in a projection of his nondecreasing support. Steadying his breath, Kaz took it.

He sat next to Snake and looked at his face, trying to grasp the change he couldn’t comprehend. It was plastered with heavy emotions in the creases all over his skin: dread, insecurity, dismay. But despite all that, Snake wearily smiled at him.

The scratches dully burned on his skin; Kaz buried his face in his palm and perched onto the headrest.

“Lie down, won’t you,” muttered Venom, and brushed his flesh fingers against Kaz’s naked stump. The hardness was gone from Kaz’s face, he looked exhausted, but positively sober in stark of consciousness.   

Having wasted the negligible amount of energy he’d had left, Kaz reluctantly surrendered to Snake’s hands that quickly peeled him of the ragged shirt and his pants. He was too exhausted to open his eyes and obediently leaned into Snake’s movements as he laid him horizontally, face to the pillow. A bristled blanket covered his shoulders, and the firmness of touches was gone. There was rustle of clothes, and he felt the bed yielding under the weight, and a large, radiant arm winded round his middle.

 

***

 

The monstrous horn thrusted itself upward, enormous like the tower of Babel, cutting through skin and flesh with each rapacious hitch.

The heat was his body, scarred and mutilated – had that ugly seam always been there, below his nape? They say the demon used to have two heads, one devoured by Hell Master, one left be. As Kaz touched the scar, the monster growled like a wild animal.    

Giant paws clawed his thighs, tearing the flesh apart, raveling and shearing naked muscles. Kaz let out a groan as harsh ache spread across his bottom. His ribs were crushing under the titanic form on top of him, all the same the beast didn’t stop moving, hashing Kaz’s raw insides with his tremendous spiky member. He glanced down: his organs spilled out of his mashed body, blood and flesh brewed in gruesome crimson squash.   

“That is all,” rasped the demon, baring his ragged fangs in a horrible smile. “I have no use for you anymore.”

A scored thumb ran across his lips lightly, like a butterfly landing on a flower to drain the morning dew. Kaz tasted steel in his mouth; viscous liquid filled it up, gushing down his throat and making it harder to breathe.

“Don’t leave me,” Kaz mouthed, suffocating on a gurgle. His head, although he sensed brush of air on his opened skull, remained intact.

The demon stayed silent. All in red, Kaz saw his teeth, bared, stained in blood, and they closed on his face, tearing it into shreds.

With a start, Kaz sat up in bed. His hand shook so greatly he could barely wipe the sweat from his blazing forehead.

He felt for cigarettes and his hand touched something solid and warm: pressed to his side, naked and unconscious, was Snake. When Kaz noticed him, he realized how firmly his shoulder bulged against his own thigh. His frame was oddly relaxed, he lay on his back and the blanket barely covered his hairy chest as Kaz had risen and dragged it along. There wasn’t a hint of unrest in his scarred face. It was odd to see him without the eye-patch he never bothered to remove back then in MSF days.

Breathing deeply, Kaz lowered back to the sheets – they were profusely wet of his own sweat – and tentatively leaned onto the large frame of Boss. He didn’t stir, and Kaz could even hear the beat of his strong heart. With a sigh, Kaz rested his head on Snake’s shoulder.

“Kaz, sleep,” Snake murmured, raspy, and Kaz doubted it was deliberate. Yet that soothing voice enshrouded his chest from within like a shield. There was no escape from nightmares, but under protection of the sleeping beast, for now, Kaz felt safe.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains allusions of The Hollow Men by Thomas Stearns Eliot [[read here]](http://www.shmoop.com/hollow-men/poem-text.html)  
> The song Kaz sings in Costa Rica is "Heroes" by David Bowie [[listen here]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NY7cbPjpPVc)  
> Translation of Ocelot's russian swearing:  
> *"блядь" - "fuck"  
> *"ёб твою мать" - literally: "fuck your mother", actually has a meaning similar to "fuck"  
> Thank you for reading! Comments are very much appreciated.


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